


Threefold

by aggressive_pepsi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse in later chapters, I like trans characters, Multi, Nonbinary Gabirel, Trans Sam Winchester, Trans girl Jessica, Witch AU, nonbinary Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:06:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggressive_pepsi/pseuds/aggressive_pepsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Dean and John agree to keep the world of the supernatural away from Sam for his sake. This goes along pretty well, until Sam finds out the truth- and becomes a witch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threefold

My name is Sam Winchester. I have an older brother named Dean, and a father named John. My mom died in a car accident when I was a baby. At least, that’s what I was told. But I know they’re lying. Just like I know how dad is lying when he says he’s going on a business trip. I know that my brother doesn’t really get into that many fights in alleyways. You don’t take a shotgun to a business meeting. Humans don’t leave those kinds of mars behind when they fight. You don’t bring a gun to a fist fight and get to go home the next day.

Dean has a lot of knives in his room. They’re mostly sliver, but one is iron. I know what he uses them for, just like I know why our floors are so gritty all the time, and why all the “sand” in our windowsill always ends up in unbreaking lines. I know why Dad made Dean take Latin in high school. I know the mark on Dean’s door isn’t the logo for an obscure rock band. I know a lot of things.

My family thinks they know a lot of things too. They think they know why I carry a mint tin with me everywhere I go. They think they know why I ask for scented candles for my birthday every year. They think they know why Dad doesn’t come into my room without permission, but is always in Dean’s room. They’re wrong, though.

I don’t blame them, honestly. People like them are focused less on the subtleties of things. They know how to fight and scratch and not give up, good qualities on their own. But they don’t know how the scent of vanilla in a room can alter one’s perspective to one more loving. They know all the words to an exorcism and how to execute one perfectly. But they don’t know that a sigil and a sachet of mint will help deter demons in the first place. They know how to break a hex, how to put a stop to a magic-worker’s intent. But they don’t know how to craft that hex, how to shape the intent. They know how to end a werewolf’s life. But they don’t track the moon phases to avoid them in the first place.

My father and my brother kill magical beings, and I’m a witch.

* * *

 

They don’t know it, of course. I’m honestly not sure what they would do if they did know. After all I’ve “put them through”, they’d probably throw me out, or worse. But I know how to hide it. Dad is a bit of a gruff and oblivious man, and Dean takes a lot after him. It’s not hard to hide my craft. A sigil on the underside of my door for keeping things unnoticed, some strategic feigned ignorance, and it keeps them from paying much mind. And it’s easy, as long as I keep my grades up, and that’s not hard for me in all honesty. Especially not when I have memory charms and good luck spells at my disposal. It’s been this way for years, and nothing much has changed since I first learned of the less-trodden path.

I first learned that magic was real when I was staying with Uncle Bobby. He has thousands of books at his house, and apparently never much agreed with Dad keeping this world from me. He didn’t encourage me, per say, but I wasn’t discouraged from reading the books in Bobby’s office, as long as it wasn’t on his desk, or in the black bookshelf. Those I wasn’t allowed to touch. I’m still not allowed to touch them, even me being 18. That’s fine though, it’s his office after all. But a few years ago, I grabbed a book off of one of the permitted shelves, finally tired of doing my homework or listening to music. It changed my world forever.

It was a simple guidebook to herbs and their magical uses. I thought at first, like most cynical teenagers would, that it was just old wives’ tales type of information, but as I read on, something seemed different than the old tales, the stories to keep children to behave or to make mothers in the colonial era feel better about their families declining health. So I kept reading. I read the whole book, cover to cover. And then picked up another one, this one mentioning spells. It was all advanced magic, things I wouldn’t dare to attempt even now, but I still have many of them memorized to this day. I read that one as well, through and through. Another book in my hand, this one about vampires- and I read nothing relating to the vampires of pop-culture. There were no stakes, no death-by-sunlight. It was unlike anything I had ever read. And again, I read it all, absorbed it.

I had been a natural reader since I could sit upright and process the squiggles on a page or a block, but nothing pulled me in so deeply as these books Bobby had in his office, and there were so many. I made it through an entire shelf in one day. By the time Bobby came home from whatever he was doing that day, most likely answering an emergency call from a “family friend” that I would later learn was another hunter, I was sitting on the couch with a small library of read books on the table in front of me, halfway through an encyclopedia on historical hauntings.

“Sam?” came the voice, and I jumped. I looked up, terrified that I was in trouble. Bobby had never explicitly said I could read these books, just that I couldn’t read the ones on the black shelf and on his desk. But the tone wasn’t angry, or even cold. What Bobby said in reply to my shocked look changed my entire life forever. “Finally found out the truth, huh son?”

Other than the fact that Bobby had just confirmed the fact that, yes, magic and monsters and everything in between was real, this was the first time he had used anything in conjunction with my gender identity. He had already called me as Sam when I first came out to him as trans, but had never used my pronouns or even really acknowledged that I wasn’t a girl. So I only responded with more shock. This wasn’t like Bobby, but… it wasn’t in a bad way not like him, I didn’t think. But I was nervous.

Without thinking, I reached into my pocket, and flung the packet of salt Dad always told me to keep with me. He told me if someone was acting strange, and he made sure to drill this point, throw salt at them. It’s supposed to shock them into behaving more like themselves, he said. The problem is, I forgot to tear it open and poor Bobby was hit in the face with a paper package full of salt. He just blinked and made that face. You know the one. “Apparently ya’ did,” he muttered, and sighed.

Bobby knelt beside me, and asked me what I thought of all the things I read, glancing over the book pile and seeming surprised that I had made it through so many in the time he was gone. “I never did agree with John keepin’ the truth from ya,” he began, and shook his head. “But what matters now ‘s what yer gonna do with that knowledge you got there. Ya’ gonna become a monster hunter like yer brother an’ dad? Or ya’ could just go on like y’ didn’t see nothin, pretend like it was all just old wives’ tales you saw in the books yer crazy uncle Bobby keeps.”

I swallowed, not liking the idea of being faced with an ultimatum. “Are those… the only two options?” I asked, putting my thumb into the book I was holding and closing it gently, keeping my spot. I didn’t want to turn away, I didn’t. And I didn’t want to be anything like Dad. It all started coming together at that point, realizing that what my family had done all fell in line with monster prevention.

“A’ course not.” Bobby replied, and sighed again. “Yer dad doesn’t see it that way, but there’s plenty other stuff y’ can do now that y’ know the truth. Y’ can just go on about yer life, knowin’ that some people turn inta’ dogs on the full moon, knowin’ that magic an’ ghosts an demons an’ all that are real. Y’ could do what I do on th’ side, collect all the info y’ can on th’ things you read about.” He took another glance at the rather large pile of books at my side. “I think y’d be good at that one.”

“What about doing magic?” I asked, softly. It had interested me the most out of everything I read, and it seemed useful. I also had the whimsical ideas of the Harry Potter style magic in my mind when I imagined working with magic, after all, it was the only thing other than these books I had been exposed to.

Bobby brought his lips into a thin line, taking a moment to think before answering. “Yeah, y’ can do magic… but John wouldn’t have any ‘a that. He’s got this notion that anyone who does magic’s gotta be evil. I got a feelin’ you don’t much believe that, Sam.”

I took a moment to think. There were some pretty nasty curses in the book I read, which would be bad I believed. But most of them were kind things, things like blessing someone with good fortune, or encouraging crops to grow.

“I… I don’t.” I replied, hesitant if only because of fear.

“Well,” Bobby began, standing up again and folding his arms, “yer’ an adult now, Sam. It’s up ta’ you what ya do from now on. If y’ think ya can keep it a secret from John an’ yer brother, I ain’t gonna tell ‘em. But y’ gotta promise me one thing.”

I inched forward in my seat a little, excited. “Yeah?” I asked, setting the book down gently, abandoning ever being able to pick it back up again today.

“Y’ gotta promise me you’ll never start cursin’ people, never mess aroun’ with dark magic an’ spirits. Keep yer craft clean, in case John ever does find out. Or another hunter. Yer dad’s opinion on magic ain’t very popular, but any dark magic’s frowned upon in most circles.”

Was that it? “Yeah, I promise!” I replied enthusiastically, grinning more than I thought I would be. And in reply, Bobby twitched a smile back.

“Lemmie get y’ somethin’.” Bobby said suddenly, turning towards his office. “If yer gonna practice magic, I’m gonna make sure ya got an idea ‘a how t’ handle yerself.” I heard him rummaging around in his drawers, watched him pull a book or two off the shelf, look them over and put them back. After a few minutes of that, he came back with a small box of items, and pulled up a chair across from me.

“Here.” He said, laying the box in front of me. “This should be enough t’ get ya started.”

I looked over the contents of the box. A few bottles of herbs, labeled with what they were, and a date I could only assume was the day it was bottled. A smaller box, with crystals of all sorts inside, with a small card on the bottom for identifying them by name. A leather-bound journal with an owl on the front cover, empty inside, except for the day’s date. A few books on the craft, herbology and crystals. A few empty vials and jars, and a collection of votive candles, one of nearly every color.  
With each object that passed through my hands, I felt as though something that I was missing for years and years finally was coming into my possession. Something was finally right. I looked up at Bobby, and found that I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

“Remember that promise, Sam.” He said firmly, still watching me. “An’ use that journal t’ keep track a’ what you learn.” Bobby paused for a moment, as if considering something.  
“An’ if y’ ever need somethin’, advice, or an ingredient for a spell, gimmie a call.”

And that was that. By the end of the day I had done my first spell (I had found one for hiding all my newfound treasures), and had begun studying. For about a week I let my grades slip, before realizing my new gift could be used to help that too. It wasn’t easy, nothing ever much was, but I found myself managing. Not only managing, I was happier.

Glamours helped with dysphoria, luck spells brought me sidewalk pennies that I ended up using in money spells. I sewed a sigil into my backpack so I would remember to bring my homework with me to class. And those were just the things I did actively. I had USB drives full of PDF files on witchcraft, herbology and magical history, and the notebook Bobby gave me seemed endlessly full of paper. I made a point to save as much space as possible, though, and ended up with a beautiful bound book a quarter full of writing and diagrams, all in different color inks.

Not once has dad questioned it, at least not so far. I hope it stays that way.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the prologue for the story, and from this point forward it won't be in first person. I just wanted a chance to test the waters on that, and while I love the idea I don't much care for first-person writing I've decided, so while its too late to change the perspective here, it wont be in this format in future chapters.


End file.
